Swing the blade, Darling
by Quite Silent
Summary: Hannibal discovers one of Clarice's personal problems and yearns to help. Seconds up! (rated for a serious subject matter)
1. Your Dryers full of Knifes

Disclaimer: no copy right infringement intended. These characters are all the mind work of Mr. Harris; however these situations are of my own mind.

The light hum of a dryer reverberated through the chilly home. The soft sound of music resonated throughout the house and down the stairs straight into his ears. The lyrics were being sung by an airy female voice. "Drink up baby down, mm are you in or are you out? Leave your things behind because its all going off with out you, excuse me, too busy, your writing your tragedies, mishaps you bubble wrap when you have no idea about your lives, let go, if you let go, then jump in, you'll know what your waiting for, it's alright cause theirs beauty in the break down" The sound was soft and soothing in a way to him. Suddenly the station was switched and rock sounded throughout the house. "I walk down a lonely road, the only one I have ever known, don't know where it goes, but its home to me and I walk alone. I walk this empty street on the boulevard of broken dreams…" The sound was broken with a few small sobs that came from a room just at the end oh the hall in which he stood.

"Clarice?" he slowly moved down the hall to a slightly ajar door. It was her laundry room; he knew that from his late night visits while she slept. As he drew closer the sobs grew louder then abruptly ended. "Clarice? Are you alright?" she could hear his voice. "Pshht, get out of my head Lecter." She whispered, thinking it was all a figment of her imagination. He silently pushed the door further into the room; she wouldn't hear this due to the blaring of the radio sitting next to her. She sat on the floor her back against the dryer. To her upper left arm she held her pocket knife, its metallic glint flicking around the room. Clarice took a breath and slowly dragged it across her freckled, porcelain skin. A line of crimson appeared and quickly turned into a long, humongous glop of blood that slid down her arm, pinking and scaring it.

Another set of sobs escaped her lips. Her upper arm was riddled with fresh cuts and scars. At the exact moment she turned off the radio he stepped on a squeaky floor board. Her eyes shot to his in terror. She immediately stood up, turning to the other door to her laundry room. With out thinking he jolted towards her and grabbed her bloody left arm, making her scream. He forthwith let go and let her run. He slowly looked down to his hands. Each was smothered in his dear Clarice's blood, shed at her own choosing. "Clarice is a cutter?" his mind was ablze with fear, pain and understanding.

A/N: Ok. If you know anyone who cuts, it is very, **VERY** important to tell someone about it. Cutting is a life threatening and common problem in teens. So please, if you know someone that cuts, tell someone about it. Also if you need to talk to someone just e-mail me.This is a very personal story to me becauseI've been a cutter for almost four years and perhaps I could understand and help.


	2. Your eyes are full of blood

Disclaimer: yada yada not my characters yada yada my story.

Echoing hallucinations drifted through his mind's palace. The usually brown and crème walls of the many hallways and rooms were now a crimson color that had never before seemed strange to him. He ran up and down the bleeding halls seeking out what his heart longed to find. He opened door after door, flooding his mind with memories, each spilling out of the doors as though they were locked away waves, their power building over the years. He ran swiftly his memories matching his pace, behind him slipped is baby sister Mischa, her maroon eyes the head of the wave, her cry's its silent murmur.

He came upon a light green door, into it was elegently carvedthe single name "Clarice". His shaky hands reached for its golden knob, twisting it slowly. Greeting him just beyond the door was smiling and laughing Clarice. He had seen her playing about with her mate but a month ago, her hair now cut down to just below her shoulders. (He had once heard her tell Mapp that she would never grow her hair any longer after what happened at Chesapeake.) They had been in a small park near a cemetery. It had been in mid October and tree's leaves were crisp and yellow, falling to the ground in artful displays. Her mate was a tall dark haired man, he seemed to be muscular and about a foot taller than Clarice. They walked slowly hand in hand, speaking to each other through smiling lips. The man had suddenly knelt and picked up a large handful of leaves and playfully tossed them at her, a single green oak leaf landing in her auburn hair. She had smiled gleefully and grabbed her own handful; they proceeded to toss the leaves about until Hannibal watched Clarice draw closer to this man and kiss him passionately, having to stand on her tip-toes to reach his lips. Lecter had then heard her yell "Your it!" and take off running. He had never seen her so happy before in his life.

The squeaky sound of a wooden chair being pulled across laminate floors broke into his palace through open doors and windows. He was suddenly ripped back to reality. "Clarice!" he yelled into her empty home, the only sounds that now resonated through out the house were the buzz of the finished dryer and the echo of his urgent yelling. He looked down to the hard floor of the laundry room. "Like Hansel and Gretel" he grimly thought as he began to follow the smears of blood that transferred from the hard tile floor to the lush white carpet of her family room. They led all the way to the kitchen. He found her standing atop one of her wooden breakfast chairs, scrubbing out her plate cupboard. Her blood was dripping down her arm and onto the white of the painted wood. It seemed as though her cleaning was pointless, she bled onto the white then wiped it up, just to be met with another splotch of crimson to be wiped yet again.

"My deep roller has finally fallen." He thought out loud, the tang of his words still resting on his lips. "LEAVE!" her voice thundered around the room and into his ears. He quietly left the room, making her believe he had followed her orders. She slowly began to sit, weak from standing, sudden pain (not physical but mental) and frustration. After about ten minutes she was quite sure that he was not coming back and began to lean her head back and close her eyes, finally resting. Suddenly she felt a strong grasp on her arm. "Clarice, stay calm, you've lost a lot of blood; how many times did you cut yourself tonight and where?" she looked at him her cool blue eyes meeting his maroon soul stealers. "Nine…On my arm and my side." The last words came out as a sigh.

A/N: Ok once again, if you no someone who cuts TELL SOMEONE! It is very important that you do so. Thank you all for your support.


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